Above Itzali's head, the tent flapped in the wind. Like a river that washes away the dirt, a fresh breeze rushed through and swept away the stench all around, if only for a moment. As the doctor took the brief respite to wipe the sweat and grime away from his face, his eyes followed the path of the breeze to its source, the opening of the tent, with the city and the Sallqata Mountains beyond it.

Up above the lands of Rumas, a mysterious structure was being built into the mountainside to dominate the picture from then on. The construction was a giant tower, but only the skeleton of one. Built from wood that surrounded metal, it stood against the walls of the mountain and created a sort of bowl that was angled away from the rugged cliff side.

“Why would Lord Nasica build something like that?” Naoka asked in confusion beside him. However, Doctor Itzali's calm mood was broken right away. He hadn't forgiven his fake apprentice for his perceived betrayal. With Naoka's words, the doctor was once again reminded of his role as a pawn in the political games of Medala. No matter what crown or strange construction, he once again reinforced his decision that he wouldn't worry about such worldly issues.

Instead, he looked back down from the far-away majestic mountains and into the tent full of misery. By now the breeze was gone and the sharp stench of human suffering had returned. In several rows within the large tent lay a dozen people, all of them befallen with a strange illness. Despite their miserable appearance, the doctor's face was much kinder towards them than it had been towards his apprentice. His head had been in the dirt for months, and he had long learned humility in a cold and evil world. Even in all his days in Chutwa, he had never fought so hard, and felt so helpless.

“Shut up and help me out here!” he still called, and threw a number of used cloth strips over to Naoka. Although he had just changed them for the ill, cloth was expensive, and he expected many more victims in the near future. “Go wash these in boiling water and add some alcohol. And when you got them boiling, go to the guards and tell them to cordon off this part of the city, or this illness will spread even further.”

While the ghost warrior's status within the southern kingdom was higher than Itzali's, he still had to play his role as a doctor's apprentice. Thus, he still had to follow the command, no matter how unwilling he was. After he watched his annoyed, mumbling overseer trot out of the tent, the doctor once more looked at the plagued around him.

On rows upon rows of improvised straw mats, or even on raw earth, lay the poorest people Rumas had to offer. Many were unconscious, many had red rashes all over their bodies. This was an illness Itzali had never encountered in Chutwa, so his old knowledge had proven almost useless here. Only the new knowledge he had acquired in Medala still proved of some use against the unknown disease.

Yet despite his advanced medical equipment, he had failed to identify the exact source of the danger so far. Though considering the illness would always spread quickly to infect entire families, he suspected direct transmission from patient to patient, rather than a secondary carrier like rats, mosquitoes or water. Thus, it was no surprise that this illness had spread fastest in the densest and poorest parts of the city.

Here in the slums, beyond the city's outer walls, pestilence had struck the people and brought them to their knees. By now, dozens were infected, most of them neighbors from the same district. However, Itzali's attempts at a cure had shown almost no results. The best he could do was keep them out of the rain outside, make sure they drank enough water, and keep them away from anyone else so they wouldn't infect others.

However, his measures had proven insufficient. Just today, he had received yet another five patients despite his efforts in stemming the tide. As far as he could tell, the new illness had a long incubation period, which gave the sick enough time to infect others around them before they showed any symptoms.

As if the work hasn't been hard enough already.

With a sigh, Itzali continued to check the health of the patients around him. Since he had begun his travels through Medala, he had seen new, unknown diseases in almost every town. At first he had been confused by how ill the people of Medala were compared to those in Chutwa. Now however, he was certain that he had found the source of all the maladies.

These countless new illnesses had begun to spread all across Medala only ever since the foreigners had come over from Arcavia. If King Corco's lectures were to be believed, this was a natural phenomenon. The people of Medala hadn't come in contact with Arcavians for several centuries. It wasn't until Bornish and Cahlian ships reached the eastern shores two decades ago that contact was reestablished. Thus, the people here were unaccustomed to some more recent Arcavian illnesses. As a result, they couldn't shrug them off like the Arcavians did. Predictably, these illnesses had first spread among the trading ports in the east, namely Porcero and Port Ulta.

These were the first places he had visited once King Corco had returned his 'freedom' to him. However, in the face of the overwhelming forces, he felt helpless. Wherever he went, there was more pain and death than any one man could possibly heal, even with the miracle methods he had learned in Saniya.

Thus, his overseer Naoka had 'advised' him to focus on the rich and powerful first. After all, Naoka's goal was for them to gain a reputation as miracle doctors among the upper class, though to what purpose Itzali still didn't know. Maybe he was just being headstrong, but in between visits to the rich and powerful, he would insist on camps like this one, where he would treat many of the poorer elements of the city for free. It wasn't near enough to cleanse the people's diseases – or his pained heart for that matter – but at least it was a start. As disease had traveled from the two ports further inland, so had Itzali.

By now, he had long left the eastern trade centers and followed the oriental plagues to their next destinations. After they had wreaked havoc in the ports, they had followed the countless faithful and hit Medala's sites of pilgrimage hard.

While Itzali didn't believe in the Yaku's barbarian religion, he still had to acknowledge their devotion. All throughout Medala, one could find special places of worship like the mountain lake of Mount Urquna or the caves in Lord Nasica's territory. These holy sites would draw endless streams of pilgrims from all over the country throughout the year. However, this time, their devotion had become their undoing, as the people from all over had mingled together in these sites and infected the locals with their diseases. The colorful mixture of locals and visitors had become a perfect breeding ground for many illnesses.

If this continued any further and the visitors were allowed to return home, then soon the entire empire would be sick. He had tried to warn the many lords he had met over the past months, but none of them had taken him seriously. Most were convinced that their walls and soldiers would save them, that disease was only a problem for the common folks. Others had simply laughed off his concerns and assumed he was angling for some additional benefits.

However, they had done him a disservice. All his warnings and concerns weren't an attempt to fulfill the elusive mission his master had given him. They also weren't related to his overseer Naoka who would breathe down his neck to stay in line, or with the fame and fortune that would come with the accurate prediction of a plague. At this point, all he wanted was to somehow stem the tide of infinite pain that he could see roll towards them from over the horizon.

Over the past few months, Itzali had spent more and more of the gifts and payments he had received from treating the rich on supplies he needed to treat those who couldn't pay for his services. At this point, he was almost out of money, and their little two-man operation had swelled to the size of a caravan. Within the many donkey carts, one would find multiple tents like the one he was in right now to quarantine and treat the poorest of the poor, as well as food, clean water, alcohol, and many cheap herbs to treat the sick he met along the way. Of course, he had also hired several paid helpers who would assist him as best they could, despite their lack of medical expertise. Even so, nothing was enough.

With worry, Itzali looked down onto the old woman with her crooked back and wet strands of gray hair. Her face was pale wherever it wasn't red. Sweat oozed out of her body in puddles, and left behind a nasty stench that would drive away any man of standing in disgust.

Somehow, this illness seemed to hit adults much harder than children. The young ones were almost always fine after a day or two of coughs and hives, but the adults showed much harsher symptoms. Often, they would not survive the symptoms for long, even less so the elderly. Pained by the woman's almost sealed fate, Itzali closed his eyes, before he grasped for a small leather bag fastened at the side of his clothes. Inside were ten vials of a clear liquid, though seven of them were already emptied.

From time to time, Naoka's contacts would supply them with new portions of penicillin, but it was a still scarce commodity. He had seen it produced in Saniya's lab once, and vaguely understood how long and arduous the extraction of just a small amount was. Thus, he wouldn't blame the king for his stinginess in this regard. Even so, the amount wasn't anywhere near enough to heal every ill and injured person he encountered. He tried to limit its use to only the most dire of cases, but some people still had to die under his watch. Who got the drug and who didn't, that was always the hardest decision for the doctor to make.

As he administered the drug, the weak old woman opened her murky eyes and smiled at him.

“Thank you, miracle doctor,” she croaked, and landed her shivering hand on his sleeve. The old Itzali who strolled Chutwa's markets in search of a rich master to mooch from may have thrown the nasty old woman off, or maybe he would have reveled in the glory of his newly gained reputation. Yet after his experiences during these past months, only a bitter taste was left in his mouth.

While his exploits had reinforced his miracle worker persona, only he knew just how powerless he truly was. Whatever he did would never suffice. At this point, he had already decided that no matter what, he would return to Saniya as soon as his mission was over. He would resume teaching his apprentices, at least those who were not spies of the crown, and he would dedicate his life on teaching and research. He would create an army of doctors, large enough and strong enough to beat back the infinite, invisible hordes that threatened to destroy humanity.

While Itzali waited by the woman's side in case she showed an averse reaction to the penicillin, deep in thought of his future, Naoka returned. This was much faster than Itzali had expected, but it was obvious the fake apprentice hadn't followed his orders. Rather than fresh towels, his overseer had brought him a guest.

The man's straight posture identified him as a warrior, and his expensive clothes and disgusted look at the suffering around him proved his status as a high noble. Though he seemed tired around his eyes, he didn't appear particularly ill. Already, Itzali wanted to scold Naoka for bringing yet another bored rich man with a stuffy nose to distract him from his real duties.

However, just in time he saw the warning in Naoka's widened eyes, as well as the smallest of shakes from the spy's head. Whoever the nobleman was, he wasn't someone Itzali could afford to offend.

“Master Itzali,” Naoka began with a bow and a deep posture he would only show with outsiders around, “May I introduce, this noble personage is Ancestor Caelestis Viribus Pluritac, former emperor of Medala. Ancestor has heard of master's great talents and has made the long way from Arguna here, to invite master into the Ancestral Hall.”

As soon as he heard the spy's words, Itzali went on his knees and lowered his head to worship what had to be one of the most powerful people in the country. Although he still didn't quite understand the purpose of his journey, he felt as if his meeting with Caelestis brought him very close to its end. With any luck, he could soon return to the safe and peaceful world of Saniya's laboratories, to fortify the southern kingdom's new strain of doctors for their endless war against disease.